Love In A Cold Climate
by Slut Queen Virgin King
Summary: Snape and Hermione out of their usual setting of Hogwarts. This time Hermione is the teacher and Sanpe the student. R&R please


**__**

LOVE IN A COLD CLIMATE

The train screamed northwards, snaking around mountains. Snape had long since ceased watching the landscape. He read textbooks, and a glare at younger students kept the compartment to himself. He still had it.

There was a streak of white in his hair, running from temple along his head, like a divider line on a black road top. It was a reminder of the ordeals Voldemort had put him through. The white hair covered a scar that ran nearly the length of his skull under his hair. Dumbledore, who knew more Muggle references that most wizards, called it a GT stripe. Whatever that was.

Snape stretched and flopped back more comfortably in his seat. Dumbledore. Why did the man have to act so damned fatherly?

"Have an enjoyable time at Durmstrang, Severus." "It's good to see you getting out from that Potions laboratory, man." "See if you can't convince their Arithmancy Master to come back with you to Hogwarts." "Wonderful that my teachers take on further studies."

Like the latter was a choice. Following Voldemort's downfall, his final destruction, the Dark Mark had faded from Snape's arm. His scar ceased aching every goddamned day. And Hogwarts' Potions Master preferred the solitude of his laboratory to the nation-wide celebrations. Harry Potter became The Man Who Lived It Up. Dumbledore had accolades foisted upon him. He tried to drag Snape along with him, but he retreated.

A year after Voldemort's destruction, Dumbledore made his announcement. All teachers to undertake advanced studies outside their own area. Away from their own school. Damned nuisance. Snape stuck his wand in a prospectus. Muggle Studies. An easy enough certificate to get, and pehaps the change of atmosphere would do him good. If good was something that applied to him.

The train was slowing. Snape heard all the little Durmstrang students buzzing and fluttering about in other compartments. He thought of Hogwarts. Next week, students would arrive there to find the substitute Potions teacher. No doubt everyone from Year 2 to 7 would be delighted. The first years would have no idea of what they were missing until Snape returned next term. He would enjoy the shock on their faces.

Next term, he promised himself. Something to look forward to. But for now there was the Certificate in Muggle Studies to endure. Half research, half coursework. Full torture.

The entry to Hogwarts was via boats or carriages. The entry to Durmstrang was across a frozen lake. Sleds, with goddamned enchanted reindeer who didn't slip on the ice. They even wore bells. Snape caugh the last sled, and had to share with a hugely overweight man. Good thing Snape was thin. Gods forbid he take up more than one eighth of the seat.

"You must be Severus Snape!" boomed Fatty. "I heard you vas coming to Durmstrang. Velcome." He slapped Snape on the shoulder. "Karkaroff used to mention you." The man's face fell, and he looked uncomfortable.

"I assure you that whatever Karkaroff said about me, I return the compliments in spades."

Fatty held out his hand. "Heinrich Vasplach, Muggle Studies." He grinned. "Looks like we'll be spending some time together."

Snape didn't think all his misdeeds for Voldemort warranted this punishment.

Durmstrang was a huge, rigid-walled fortress. Snow capped the turrets. The walls were moss-covered and there was a single port cullis. The iron door clanked up loudly, admitting students and staff alike. It slammed shut behind them. Everyone was herded into a huge hall. Unlike the soft candlelight of Hogwarts' hall, flaming torches hung in mid-air and along the walls, casting leaping shadows.

The three graduate students, including Snape, were welcomed to the High Table. Professor Ivanova presided, all in black. Snape approved the colour choice. They were seated at the far end, with just enough of a gap from the teaching staff that their separateness was noted. Several seats were empty. Snape wondered who was missing. Shame it wasn't Vasplach. 

The Sorting Sword was produced. Its tip drew a single drop of blood from each new student in turn, from the right index finger, and in a quavering voice, sang the Houses of the students. Odinor, Freeyja, Lokin, and Ranarar. Snape thought, if he'd attended Durmstrang as an undergraduate, he'd be placed in Lokin.

Ivanova spoke. "Classes begin tomorrow. Attendance is compulsory. Try outs for the Quidditch teams are on Thursday. Be there. Treat Durmstrang well. It is your home now. After the meal, you will be shown to your dormitories. There, you will meet your Head of House for a short lecture. Eat now."

Snape could hear students muttering complaints. He stared down at his own plate. A thick stew appeared in the tureen, laced heavily with potatoes. He took a slurp. It would certainly put hairs on his chest. Should his chest need hair. His goblet filled with red wine. At least that was good. Two large bread rolls sat on his plate. Full of wholemeal, and other bowel-enhancing items. He suspected they were Germanic fighting rolls, and hefted one experimentally. They definitely had the weight to do damage.

His fellow graduate students stared at their own plates.

"What's wrong with bloody steak and chips?" one wondered, in a long Australian drawl.

"Food very much heavy," said the other, shivering in her ceremonial Japanese silk robes. She poked at the bread rolls, glanced around, and when no one was looking, used her wand to turn them into nori rolls.

Snape was all ready half way through his stew. He wished he'd had half the brains to do likewise. At this moment, he could be tucking into beef stroganoff, instead of this anonymous stew.

A side door opened, and the missing teachers slid through into their seats. Snape nearly choked on a shrivelled carrot slice. He recognised one of them. Hermione Granger had been one of Hogwarts most brilliant students. She had graduated with Honours, and gone on to graduate school. He remembered seeing some notice in the Daily Prophet, her image accepting a higher degree. Snape had little interest in past students. Not information to keep. He had always seen she would go on to an academic career. Just so long as she didn't come back to teach at Hogwarts. Annoying child. He didn't follow her career.

She'd apparently scored a teaching position at Durmstrang. No reason for her to remain in England. Her two closest friends had gone their own ways. The Weasley boy scouring the country for magical creatures to serve as familiars, and Potter into a Quidditch career. No doubt they kept in touch via the floo network. How lovely for them all.

Granger caught him staring at her, and nodded her head. Snape went back to his stew. As he gagged down the dregs, it was replaced with pudding the colour of sludge. This time he did use his wand. No point eating toxic waste when there was chocolate mousse to be had. His goblet kept refilling. He used his finger to scoop out the last of the mousse. That was when he suspected he'd had a goblet too many. Granger was looking at him again, smirking. Would anyone notice if he turned her into a stoat? Probably.

After dinner, he was shown to his room, high in the east tower where the staff lived. The room was freezing. Snape built up the fire and set about establishing wards on the door and walls. One couldn't be too careful. He stored his clothes and books, and sat on the bed. Only then did he notice a small trunk in the corner of the room. He opened it. Out sprang a house elf, clad in a kilt made of oven mitts. Snape could see tiny stairs leading down behind it. So, each room was connected to the elf servant quarters.

"Hello, zir. My name is being Pokey." Even the elves spoke with an accent. "Iz zhere anythink you need, zir?"

"This room is cold. My bed is cold. I require extra blankets, and a glass of water by my bed." Elves loved orders. The clearer, the better. "Please." Elves also loved manners.

"Pokey is thinkink you should use heating spells, zir. Pokey vill fetch blankets, bed warmer, and vater, zir." He saluted and left.

Snape shook his head, and enspelled his room with heating sigils. One sigil on every fifth stone, three on the bed, and just for comfort's sake, two on the toilet seat. Snape's patience and energy were lagging by the time he finished, and Pokey returned with one tired blanket, and a huge bearskin throw for the bed. Snape looked at his bed. He thought all he needed now was a blonde Valkerie to complete the Teutonic image. And maybe a good dose of body lice.

Pokey saluted again and disappeared down the trunk exit. Snape shook his head. It's only for one term, he told himself. Shorter, if he pushed himself. How hard could Muggle studies be?

He showered. At least the water was hot. Heated, it was rumoured, by a flock of dragons in the dungeons. He climbed into bed. The bearskin throw smelled funny. Snape used a 'freshen' spell on it. It didn't help. It had obviously belonged to an old bear with desultory personal hygiene. Snape wasn't sure he wouldn't acquire the body lice after all.

Snape read through his time table of classes. Only three per week. Plenty of time for research in the library. 

The fireplace flared and Granger stepped out of it, dusting herself off. Excess floo powder.

"Professor Snape!" she enthused. "How wonderful to see you!"

Snape stared. Whatever happened to manners? First Vasplach slapping him on the back, now this!

"Miss Granger. Or should I say, Professor Granger now?"

"Hermione, please. I'm sorry to intrude like this. It's just that I don't often see someone from England." She sighed. "The whole Germanic thing gets a bit old after a while." She came to sit on the end of his bed. She was not relaxed, ready to take flight at his slightest rude remark. It was tempting. On the other hand, she was no longer a student, and therefore he shouldn't terrorise her. Much.

Snape kicked himself into conversation. "Your subject?" It was a start.

"Arithmancy."

Snape groaned inside. He was supposed to headhunt her for Hogwarts. What joy.

"Are you part of the graduate programme? What are you studying?" 

Could her enthusiasm not be channelled into something more constructive? Like heating water in the dungeons.

"Muggle Studies. Certificate only."

Granger started to grin. 

"Is something amusing?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that….. I'm the only witch here who has Muggle parents. Professor Vasplach asked me to take the Muggle student around some Muggle places, help you with your thesis."

"I am perfectly capable of my own research, Professor. The library-"

"Vasplach likes raw experimental data."

It was going to be a very long term. Killing was too good for Dumbledore and his stupid graduate exchange programme.

Snape saw Granger look longingly at his tea set. "Would you like tea, Professor?"

"Hermione, please."

Did she honestly think he was going to offer up his first name to her voluntarily? He need not have worried. Her personality just forged along, regardless.

"I'd love some tea, Severus. Coffee, if you have it."

Stupid question. Wizards could conjure anything. Especially a Potions Master. A flick of his wand, and Hermione held a small Turkish glass of watery coffee, luke warm. She frowned.

"First Muggle rule. They really care about their coffee." She produced her own wand. In a trice, they both held huge mugs of choc, double froth frappacino, with a dash of orange liqueur. Wonderful, on top of the red wine. Snape felt his body loosen, and noticed his feet wagging under the blankets. A great force of will was required to stop them.

"I put wards all around this room," he burst out. "How did you get in?"

She shrugged. "The wards would work better if you'd spelled every seventh brick, seven being a higher prime number than five."

Gods, not Arithmancy now!

"Also, you didn't spell the fireplace."

He would see to that tomorrow. His feet were wagging again. He found himself staring at Hermione's face. It was heart shaped, smooth now of any teenage pimples, and pale against her dark hair. He didn't remember it being so dark. Must be the longer winters up here.

"I suppose you're wondering how I ended up at Durmstrang."

"I-"

"I was offered three jobs after graduate school." She sighed. "The heart doesn't have a brain. I followed Viktor Krum. He said he was going to teach here after he finished up with Bulgaria."

Snape's head swam. He wondered if he should be understanding any of this.

"It didn't work out. He took up with a woman from The Elixir Girls." She shrugged. "End of story. Now, how are things in England? What's happening at Hogwarts? Do you hear anything from Harry or Ron? They haven't owled me in ages. Whatever happened to Draco Malfoy after all that Death Eater nonsense? Do you think he really did join You-Know-Who? And what are you doing these days? Don't you just miss the old days when we were all students?"

Which question to answer first? Which one could he remember? The Malfoy one.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, if that's the way you feel!" Hermione gathered herself up. She was tall. Standing, should would top Snape's shoulder. "I'm sorry I laid down the welcome mat for you. I can see you haven't changed at all."

She swept to the fireplace. Only then did Snape notice the large ceramic jar on the mantel. She tossed floo powder into the fireplace and stepped in.

Snape found she'd turned his wonderful coffee into cat wee. He spelled it away, unsteadily. From somewhere in the castle, he heard a howl. Someone had just had cat wee emptied on them.

Snape wasn't sure what had just happened. He'd answered a question, that much he was sure of. Then she'd gotten pissed at him and left. Women!

He slid down under his bedclothes and slept.

Tutorials with Vasplach were unendurable. The man kept his classroom super-heated. Which meant he sweated. Vasplach had not kept up with Potions developments in the area of deodorants. The middle-aged wizard ate garlic. It came out in his skin. Snape was tempted to start sporting a nosegay.

A twelve week term. Three one-on-one tutes a week. A further consultation once a month, to see how the thesis was progressing. Three weeks into term, Vasplach insisted upon direct observational data.

Surely that could be done within Durmstrang. Snape was sure there would be a couple of Squibs floating around. If staff complaints about Gretel Braun were to be believed, she was the next best thing to a Muggle. Perhaps he could follow her. He tried it, but two days into his observations, she had some sort of breakdown. That was when Vasplach suggested he confine his note taking and Muggle watching to outside of Durmstrang. Which meant Hermione Granger's unwanted help.

Snape tried to visit Gretel Braun in the Infirmary, but she'd screamed something about stalking, and broke down again. Stupid girl.

That night Snape found a small brown owl sitting on his bedhead. Did everyone have access to his rooms? He read the note attached to its leg.

"This weekend, I will be taking the train into the local Muggle town, and then Apparating to Paris, and from there to London. If you accompany me, I can assist you with your studies. Find yourself some Muggle clothes. Hermione."

Snape was not a Potions Master for nothing. He sprinkled Hermione's note with a certain liquid and got Pokey to iron it. There, printed under her writing, were her unspoken thoughts.

"_If I weren't up for contract renewal, I wouldn't do this at all, you misanthropic son of a bitch. You do one thing to ruin my weekend and I swear you'll have more than cat's piss in your mouth."_

Snape sent a reply via the owl. "I shall meet you at the Durmstrang station. Last carriage. S.S."

He sprinkled his own paper and had it ironed.

_"I'll come with you because I need this bloody certificate to get tenure. Do one thing to annoy me, you overbearing little cow and I'll see you fucked over."_

To quote the Australian exchange student: Avagoodweegend.

Snape should have remembered. The last carriage on any train was always reserved for the ratbags. His presence flattened the atmosphere somewhat, but soon the high spirited students were chatting with Hermione, and she cheerfully returned their sallies. Snape sat in his corner, responding as little as possible. 

"So, what's Hogwarts like, Professor?" one student asked.

"It's wonderful," Hermione said.

"A dungeon," Snape said at the same time.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, then spoke over him to describe her years at Hogwarts. Soon, her rapt audience were clamouring for details of Harry Potter.

"Is it true you were his girlfriend?" one brave Sixth Year asked.

Snape was interested. The staff had never figured that one out.

"No. Harry and I were more friends than dating material. We still are. Harry had enough other girls wanting his attention. He played the field in more ways than one," Hermione said, laughing. Her smile broadened. "I'm seeing him this weekend in fact."

"No!" "Truly, Professor?" "Would you get his autograph for me?"

Snape shut his eyes. Potter. Could the weekend get any better?

"Oh yes, Harry, Ron Weasley and I are having lunch." 

Snape suspected Hermione enjoyed name dropping.

"Wow! I've read all about all three of you in Wizarding: A History," said a bookish fifth year girl.

Snape opened one eye. He could see Hermione regretting her boast. "Wizarding: A History" did tend to be a bit fulsome. He'd read the most recent edition. He felt nauseated at the chapter on Voldemort's defeat. How bravely Potter, Weasley and Granger hunted him down. Potter's final duel with Voldemort and the destruction of both their wands. Muggles in all directions thinking some terrorist had struck again, this time flattening a square mile of south Yorkshire. How Granger and Weasley had dragged Potter from the site, and used most of their energy on healing spells. The three of them were found unconscious on the moors. It took two months for each of them to awaken.

Nothing was said of the wizard who tipped them off, who knew where Voldemort was stationed.

Hermione was stuttering for a response to the barrage of questions.

"Pehaps Professor Granger would like to tell us about her Potions classes with Neville Longbottom." Snape's voice broke into the maelstrom of words. "I'm sure there's some amusement there."

"Who?"

"'Cauldron' Longbottom. He's on the Muggle circuit," said the bookish student. "He's a performance magician. Pulls rabbits out of hats. A total embarassment to the Wizarding World."

"Oh, right, that guy."

And the conversation steered away from Potter. Hermione started recounting exactly how many cauldrons Neville had melted in seven years, and shot Snape a look of thanks. His eyes were shut again, but a small smile played around his mouth when Hermione mentioned the eighteenth cauldron and how the Potions class all had webbed feet for a week. Tinea and scale rot were rife.

From the station, Hermione and Snape Apparated to Paris, and from there across the channel to London. They spotted Professor Vasplach taking the same route. He was wearing flares and a t-shirt that said 'Ban The Bomb'. His theory of modern Muggle clothing.

Snape had chosen black trousers, and a nondescript black pullover. His gardening clothes from Hogwarts. Professor Sprout insisted the Professors do their own harvesting of plants. At least Snape had worn black shoes, not his wellies.

Hermione wore grey fitted trousers and a silk shirt. London seemed warm to both of them after time spent at Durmstrang.

She looked Snape up and down. "We're lunching at Bond's. Very up market. You'll need better clothes." She leaned forward. "I can still smell the mandrake on you."

"What do you suggest?" It had been years since he'd had to blend in with Muggles. The last time had been the seventies. Surely she didn't want him to look like Vasplach.

Hermione waved her hand. "Look around. I'm just going into this shop." She strode into a perfumery.

Snape stared about him, hands on hips. Okay, he thought he had the idea. Not what he'd choose for himself, but if he had to blend in…. He slipped into a phone box. The glass was all but opaque with graffiti.

Hermione emerged from the perfumery, smelling of something French and expensive, and clutching a small bag. She took one look at Snape and groaned.

His hair was spiked high into a Mohican. Over black jeans he wore a red kilt, and a black tshirt spattered with filthy words.

"Gods, no!"

Snape pointed wordlessly at several ageing punks who sat on the pavement, passing cigarettes between them, and pan handling for money.

Hermione pointed wordlessly at some well dressed people walking on the other side of the road.

"And do try to be normal. Skirts just aren't in for men this year."

Snape slammed the phone box door behind him. She said to transform his clothes. He transformed them. Then she said they weren't good enough. Clothes were clothes. Still, it was good to have his hair down around his face again, rather than standing straight up.

He reappeared in black trousers and black shirt, with a leather jacket. He'd exchanged his usual teacher shoes for black boots.

Hermione walked around him. "Nice. Much better. Just a minute."

She touched his hair. He wanted to jerk away. Did the woman have no barriers at all? But her fingers raked through his hair and pulled it back. He felt something pull at his hair several times, and found himself with a ponytail. He touched it. Hermione's hands hadn't quite retreated. He clasped her hand. They held for a second before pulling apart. Her hand was warm, soft. His were callused from years of grinding powders.

"Much better. You look….." Hermione paused. "Better."

Snape wished he had Pokey to iron her words. He was sure there was something else she was going to say.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Is there anything in particular you want to study while you're here?"

Studies. That's right. They were here for his studies. There was weak sunshine where they were standing. It lightened her hair. Snape reached forward and touched a strand. Surely he'd seen an insect or a leaf there. He said as much to Hermione. His fingers were empty. Hermione flipped her hair out of his reach, rather too quickly to be casual.

"I-er-that is, I think we should do some, I mean, I have to do some shopping. You can come along and observe if you like. I'm meeting Harry and Ron at Bond's. It might….er…"

"I shall excuse myself from that," Snape said, saving her from suggesting he bugger off and leave them alone. "But I shall observe your shopping, if I may."

"Certainly."

Courtesy covers a multitudes of confusing feelings.

Snape had no idea there were no many Muggle shops selling so many useless devices. He insisted Hermione wait while he investigated mobile phones, marvelling that Muggles had invented something smaller than an owl for such matters.

There were clothing stores. He thought black Levi's were an interesting addition to his wardrobe. Travel agencies, car salesfloors - all of which could be solved by a broom. The Virgin megastore brought him up short.

"It's not what you think," Hermione said, much amused.

"Pity." Snape watched young women come and go from the store.

Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. "I do believe you made a joke."

Snape frowned. "Dragonshit. I was just thinking…."

"Yes, I can imagine."

She dragged him away from the store. Snape let himself be led. He needed to school his thoughts. He had made a joke. He'd smiled today. His sore face muscles told him so. Things were getting out of hand. Speaking of which, Hermione still had her arm inserted in his. She was steering him into Harrod's.

Snape was goggle-eyed.

Hermione plucked at his arm. "Do you want the full shopping experience?"

He nodded mutely. 

"The full shopping-with-a-woman experience?"

He guessed so.

"Then we're heading for Women's Clothing and Lingerie."

O…..kay….. Halfway up the escalator, he moaned. He'd been shopping in Diagon Alley with his sisters years before. They took forever to choose their dress robes. _"Oh Severus, I like the blue, but the green's nice too". "Sev, do I look fat in this?" "Does this shade of purple match my eyes, Sev?"_

Fuuuuuuck!

Hermione did seem more sensible than his sisters. She knew which colours suited her and quickly picked out several items in muted tones. They headed for Lingerie. Nothing in Diagon Alley matched his in his experience. Either his sisters didn't use the stuff, or had done that shopping separately.

Wall to wall bras and knickers. Dear gods…..

Snape sat on a stool and watched Hemione flit between racks. She picked up something in powder blue, then put it back. Orange, no, nothing in her size. Lime green…apparently not. She met his gaze. He hadn't realised he'd leaned forward. She raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose you'd recommend black," she said.

"You can't go wrong with black," he said. His throat felt constricted. "But the blue would look nice too. I suppose…. I don't know." He crossed his arms. "Can we get out of here?"

"You could always take notes while I try things on." Her turn to gulp. "I mean, out here. I'll get changed. You stay here. Take notes. For your essay." She disappeared to the change rooms with an armful of things.

Snape was sweating. He removed his jacket. Perspiration was pooling in his shorts. Best to get up and walk around. He stood and draped his jacket artfully across his arm so that it hid his crotch. He decided taking notes was impossible. He trusted his sharp mind to remember the idiosyncracies of Muggle shopping. He loitered near a stand of lingerie called 'Rack 'Em Up'. The lace on the lingerie was delicate.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice asked.

A heavily made up woman peered at him. Snape removed his hand from fondling the bra.

"I'm just-"

"I understand completely, sir. If you come this way-" She lowered her voice. "-I'm sure we have something pretty in your size."

"It's not for me!"

"It never is, sir."

"I'm just waiting for….a friend." Is that what she was?

"And what size is he?"

"She."

"Oh. I see. And what size is she?"

"I have no idea. She's over there." He gestured to the distant change rooms.

The woman tapped the side of her nose. "I'll be back in a moment."

The woman went into the change rooms. Snape sharpened his hearing slightly with a spell. He could hear the woman ask: "Do you need any help in there, dear?" And Hermione answer: "Do you have this in a C-cup?"

The woman reapppeared and walked quickly back to Snape.

"I know just the thing, sir. What is your favourite colour." She glanced at Snape's clothes. "No need to ask. Come this way."

Snape had been supplied with Muggle money for the outing. Five minutes later he numbly paid for a black set of lingerie in Hermione's size.

"And there's a little something in there for you," the woman said, smiling.

Snape thought desperately. "I'm her uncle," he spurted.

"Uh huh. Well, I'm sure your niece will enjoy your present."

Hermione re-emerged and paid for her own purchases. Snape tried to put as much distance between him and the saleswoman as possible. He'd forgotten his spell.

"But he's not my uncle," he heard Hermione say, puzzled.

"They never are, dear," said the woman. Snape unspelled himself before he heard anything else.

Hermione indicated they could leave. Snape was thankful to whichever was the Muggle shopping god.

Hermione glanced at Snape's bag.

"What did you buy?" She sounded surprised.

"Never you mind," Snape snapped.

"Fine." Hermione stomped him through Electrical Appliances, Home Furnishings, and Toys. She didn't say a word. Snape didn't speak. He thought that would be relaxing. It wasn't.

"Here," he finally said, as they exited the store. "This is what I bought. You wanted to know. This is it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave. You'll want to meet your friends, and I'll-" He walked away. That was it. No more ordeals. What had he promised himself? He was going to think up something suitably awful to do to her.

Hermione watched him go. There was just no accounting for men. She looked in the bag and gasped. She fossicked aside the transparent black bra and knickers. At the bottom of the bag was a pair of silky boxer shorts. In Snape's size. Hermione flushed scarlet. Even the backs of her knees were hot.

She took deep, cleansing breaths of air as she hurried towards Bond's. It wouldn't do for Harry or Ron to see her like this. She was thinking: Cat's pee for you, Snape, old man. But she had to admit, he had good taste.

They were well into their second bottle of wine at Bond's. The walls were adorned with pictures from the James Bond movies, and the menu contained items such as Octopussy, Diamond Chips Are Forever, and Pussy Galore souffle.

Harry had booked a private booth. Much as he enjoyed playing for the Chudley Cannons as Seeker, he drew too much attention to casually sit in a Diagon Alley restaurant. Muggle dining was the only option, and then he had to be careful. Plenty of wizards walked out in London on a regular basis, and since he'd had his hair cut short, everyone could see his scar.

He'd regaled them with Quidditch and travel tales for the first hour, and then Ron had engaged them in a funny description of trying to catch the mythical big cat of England.

"Anyway, there I was, up to my knees in water, and the Muggle's container of ashes in my pocket, when-"

"Snape's at Durmstrang," Hermione burst out. The tip of her nose was pink. She immediately blushed. All of her was pink.

"Wha-?" Ron had only half heard. Red, red wine…..

"Poor old, 'Mione," said Harry. "She said Professor Snape's at Durmstrang. What's he doing there? Applying for the job of gargoyle?"

"Graduate studies."

"Surely he can't imagine there's anything he doesn't know about Potions," Ron said.

"Muggle studies. We all have to take studies outside our own field once every three years. Professional development."

"Is he still a bastard?" Harry asked. No other word did the job.

Hermione nodded vigourously. "I'll say. He bought me lingerie!" Good Hermione, why don't you say what you really mean?

"The cad!" said Ron, on automatic pilot.

Harry screwed up his face. "He bought you lingerie. That's too strange."

"Well, he bought some for both of us, really."

"Uh huh."

"It's not how it looks."

"Uh huh." Harry leaned back, arms behind his head, the picture of man triumphant. Finally, he had something he could tease Hermione about. The Lockhart stuff was too long ago, and he knew better than to mention Krum. "Well, we always knew you had a crush on him."  
"That is so not true!"

Ron pulled himself out of his slumped position. "Anyone could see it, 'Mione. The way you stared at him in Potions. All those extra hours you put in down in the dungeons. Detention my arse."

"It was! He hated me. Said I was a know-it-all little miss who should cease calling out in class. You all remember him saying it." 

"Come on, Hermione," said Harry. "We're all adults here. There's no harm admitting a crush on a teacher. Remember how Ron liked Professor Sinistra?" He leaned forward. "Even I had a few wicked thoughts about her. Her, me, the Astronomy Tower late at night."

Hermione felt the room spin. Red, red wine…..

"Well, he was interesting, in a bad boy kind of way."

The two men were stunned. They'd been joking. Ron ordered another bottle of wine, and poured for Hermione. She drank it, rather too quickly. Harry shot a glance at Ron, who returned it, eyebrows raised to their limit.

"Did you….er…" Harry began. "Did you ever….like….do anything with him?"

"NO!" She swallowed. "Apart from mix Potions. Stop looking at me like that, both of you. I'm sorry I said anything."

She was going to smother her friends. Then she was going to kill Snape. Or vice versa. It didn't matter. As long as they all died painful deaths asap. She took another gulp of wine.

"Shall we order dessert?" she said, loud and forceful.

The two men turned obediently to their menus. Hermione saw them trade another look.

"What's this I hear about you and one of the Elixir Girls, Harry?" she asked. "Which one is it? Rambunctious, Cutesy, Saffron or Thug?" Snooty Elixir all ready having been taken by Viktor Krum. Snoots and Viks the Daily Prophet called them.

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Where the hell does the paper get ahold of these stories? I haven't even met the Elixir Girls. Much as I wish I had."

"Mmmm," said Ron. "Tell us what you want, what you really, really want."

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief. The attention was off her. Neither man had spotted her reaching beneath the table at regular intervals to touch Snape's bag of shopping, and the silk boxer shorts inside. They felt cool to her moist fingers.

Snape sat over a large glass of brandy in the Leaky Cauldron. It was his second. He considered wiping Hermione's memory. He considered Disapparating her to Antarctica, to Wilkes School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was tempting to just use that most Unforgiveable of curses….. His arm stung a little. Best keep away from thoughts like those.

After the first glass of brandy, he made copious notes for his Muggle Studies essay, then used Rent-An-Owl to send them back to Durmstrang. He was into his second glass, and sitting still moping didn't appeal. He left the glass half full. Half empty, he reminded himself. Don't start becoming an optimist now.

It was a relief to walk through Diagon Alley when it wasn't school shopping time. The streets were less crowded, the shop keepers not frantic. Snape took his time examining things in the Magical Supplies shop before deciding the Hogwarts mandrakes were superior, and that he didn't want to splurge on snake nostrils right now.

Further down the Alley were Ollivander's, and a new place selling dress robes. He ignored both of them. Turn the corner and he found himself in a laneway leading to Knockturn Alley. A woman grabbed his arm.

"You come in, we have best price. Something for wife, girlfriend, sister. You come, we have."

And Snape found himself in Bewitched, the lingerie store of the wizarding world. Oh, not again, he thought.

What on earth was he going to do with two sets of lingerie in Hermione's size? He sighed and remembered why he rarely went shopping. He was a pushover.

It seemed safer to return to the pub. He ate a helping of fish and chips and sulked over them. That complete, he reluctantly made his way from Diagon Alley back into London and went in search of Bond's.

They were laughing over Ron's last girlfriend.

"Mental that one," Ron said. "Had a thing for unicorn hair. Wanted to be tickled with them."

Harry sniggered into his coffee. "There's something you can get Snape to do, Hermione."

Hermione kicked him under the table.

A shadow fell across them. They all looked up, and up. Snape stood there. Hermione blushed. It was becoming a habit.

"R-ron, Harry, this is….er…Severus Snape."

"We know who he is."

"Well, der, 'Mione."

Harry stood and offered Snape his hand. "Professor."

"Potter. Weasley." All that sniggering. Age had not improved them. He turned his attention to Hermione. "If you are ready to depart," he suggested.

Hermione staggered to her feet. "Oh, of course. We can't miss the train back to Durmstrang." She exchanged deep hugs with both her friends. Snape nodded at them.

"Gentlemen," he said.

Ron was in his cups. He waved lazily at Snape. Harry gave him a tight smile.

"Make sure she gets home all right," he said. "She's had a bit to drink."

Hermione was halfway to the exit, shopping bags in hand. "I heard that!" she boomed.

All three men winced. No doubt half of London heard _that._

They were nearly out the door when Ron shouted: "Don't forget about the unicorn hair!" just before Harry hit him with a menu.

"Unicorn hair?" Snape asked when they had traversed half the block in silence.

"Never mind. In joke." All the way in, judging by Ron's reputation.

Why did she have to be the friend of the two biggest sex maniacs on the face of the earth? And why hadn't any interesting exploits come her way? She unconsciously leaned against Snape. He supported her arm, feeling none too steady himself.

The Apparation booth was a dark corner of Kings Cross Station. They had to squash close to each other. She smelled of perfume, wine and chocolate. He smelled of brandy and woodsmoke. They inhaled deeply of each other. Hermione rested her head on Snape's shoulder.

"Fuck me, I'm drunk," she said.

Snape took a deep breath. "Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

It was too much effort to slap his face. Bastard! She dropped one of her bags. Something smashed. Her vial of perfume. This time she did whack him.

"That cost a lot of money," she said. She was weeping.

Oh gods no, not a crying drunk.

"I can make you some more," Snape said. Anything, just stop the tears. He inhaled. Rose, jasmine, cedarwood in a weak solution, dissolved amber, linden flowers, neroli, alcohol. Not too hard.

He recited the spell that took them to Paris, and then on to the northern town. He ladled Hermione into the train, and shouted loudly enough that they had a compartment to themselves. He laid her on the seat and took the one opposite. She opened one bleary eye.

"You promise about the perfume?" she asked. Her voice sounded like a little girl's.

"I promise," he said. "Go to sleep."

He had no idea where her rooms were in the East Tower, so he simply took her via the back stairs to his own. He dropped her on the bed and went back for their shopping. When he came back, she was curled under the fur, hair covering her face. He was too tired to care. He crawled in beside her and slept. His Rent-An-Owl went unnoticed on the bedhead, as did Pokey's efforts to warm the sheets.

He was dreaming of his short relationship with Lily, before she took up with Potter. She slept with her arm tossed over him. And she always wore too much to bed. Snape began unbuttoning her night dress.

Hermione was dreaming of Viktor. She hated him wearing pyjamas. Especially the ones with Quaffles all over them. She began unbuttoning them.

The owl hooted. Both of them opened their eyes.

"You!"

Snape was shirtless, his trousers unbuttoned and Hermione's hands had been pushing them off. Hermione was down to her underwear. 

Snape licked his lips and watched fascinated as Hermione's eyes followed the tip of his tongue. He did it again slower, and she unconsciously mirrored the movement. Her tongue was pink, pointed, and pressed gently on her full lips.

She moved her hands against him, just slightly, and he stopped her pulling them away. Their eyes met, his hands on hers. She knew she still had enough wine in her system, whatever early hour of the morning it was, to say it now, or she never would.

"I had a crush on you at Hogwarts."

His hands tightened over hers. "And now?"

"I think….. I don't know. Not a crush."

"I see."

He raised one hand to her breast, and squeezed. Hermione sighed approval. She rolled onto her back, and he administered to her body. His thin hands moved over her breasts, agonisingly slowly.

"Accio bra," he muttered, and it came off in his hand. He tossed it aside and the owl shrugged it off its head.

Hermione could tell where his hand would go next and ached to have it there all ready, but he kept up his snail's pace. Her skin flushed, one inch at a time, down her body, and his hands followed.

Snape leaned over her and brushed her mouth with his. Her face rose to meet him, and he found her plundering his mouth, her tongue pushing past his teeth. He sucked her deeper until that undulating muscle filled him.

Her breath came quicker.Hermione reached and touched him and his own breath quickened. On the breath they aroused each other, one gasping inwards as the other sighed outwards. He took his mouth away, only to trail it down and suckle first one nipple, then the other. His hands pushed her breasts together and he rasped his tongue across both.

Laving them with saliva and heat, he drifted his fingers downwards, along her body, circling lower until they rode under her pants. She surged forward to press against him, his hand caught between them.

Gently he pushed her back again and followed the track of his hand with his mouth.

"Accio underwear." The remainder of their clothes were in his hands. He dropped them over the side of the bed. The owl sighed with relief. It wasn't part of the job description to be draped with lingerie, or have to watch wizards doing the nasty. The owl determined to ask for two mice more than the usual quota when it returned home.

Snape lowered his head to Hermione's stomach, and then settled himself between her legs. He worked her firmly with his tongue and she clutched helplessly at his hair, pulling out the ponytail and wrapping strands around her fingers.

She felt the familiar tingle begin inside her, and there was instinct to ease the pressure, but his hands held her in place as he pushed her over the edge. She came in waves, unable to buck or move as he licked her past the point of sensitivity until she came again. Finally she was able to peel herself away from him.

She felt her own wetness. She smeared her hand with it and touched him. He moaned softly and made himself comfortable to enjoy her ministrations. She stroked him for a time, feeling the contrast of the hair at the base to the velvety head. As he started to squirm, she moved and took him into her mouth and sucked hard. She barely had to move, using suction and my tongue to swirl around him.

He tasted of spice and pre-cum. She opened her mouth a little wider to let it drip down his length. She slid her mouth off him, and he lifted her over his body, impaling her on him. Both gasped and did not dare move. He lay silent for a moment, then found her hand in the semi-darkness and nipped her Mound of Venus.

He felt her tighten and that was enough. His thrusts lifted her off the bed and she felt him come hard, up inside her. His hair was strewn across his face. Hermione reached down and brushed hair out of his eyes. He smiled at her, and pulled her down beside him.

Hermione briefly wondered if they were still drunk. She tensed. Snape stroked the side of her body.

"Not that drunk," he said.

She raised her head to look at him. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

He closed his eyes. "Energy bond," he said, voice sleepy. "When two wizards mate…."

He slept, and Hermione settled in beside him. The owl shut its eyes also.

Hermione woke with bear fur in her mouth. Even without opening her eyes, she could sense she was not in her own room. No familiar feel of her own wards. Then there were the smells. Spice, woodsmoke, booze, and sex. She opened her eyes. For a split second she expected to see Viktor. Snape's dark eyes stared at her. He was turned on his side, arm draped over her.

Oh yes…..last night. Holy goddesses! Snape ran a long finger under her jawline.

"You fidget in your sleep."

"Good morning to you, too."

He trailed his finger down to her collarbone and traced it.

"Regrets?" He looked as though he was prepared for a 'yes'.

Hermione grinned. "Are you kidding? I've just fulfilled every school girl's fantasy. I've slept with my teacher."

Snape snorted and ran his finger around her breasts. She felt a pulse of energy from him shiver through her.

"What is that?"

Snape looked away for a moment. "It's said that when there's a true mating between wizards, it creates a bond. When they're open to each other, thoughts and feelings travel." He paused. "So I've read."

"You've never experienced it before?" Hermione's insatiable mind was at work.

"I believe a true mating comes only once, if at all." He didn't add that Lily left him when she found that with James Potter.

He could see Hermione's mind at work, feel the hundred questions she was now ordering. He reached lower and slid his hand between her legs. It distracted her sufficiently. As he lowered his mouth to hers, he reflected that he had found a way to fuck her over.

Hermione thought the best revenge for his distractions was to make him sleep in the wet patch.

Both senses of revenge satisfied.

They spent most of Sunday in bed. He wasn't the most chatty of men, but he answered question succinctly. Most of them. He would not talk about his involvement with Voldemort. Sensibly, she left the subject alone. She did not wish to explore the nightmare that was her relationship with Krum.

Late in the afternoon, Hermione retreated to her own room. Snape examined his notes from yesterday, fed and thanked the owl and finally let it out. He wondered exactly what he was going to write. This was taking Muggle Studies too far. Don't bury yourself in research, he told himself.

He became erect at the thought of burying himself in Hermione. He schooled himself to complete his notes and form a thesis topic. "Muggle substitutes for magic".

By early evening, he was restless. He walked the halls of Durmstrang until he found the Potions laboratory. Professor Moesch gave him leeway to potter. He started the brew that would culminate in Hermione's perfume.

Hermione lay in her bath. Several Valkeries in a wall painting chatted with her, remarking that she looked relaxed. Hermione smiled but gave nothing away. She didn't wish to be the gossip of the oil paintings.

Hermione drifted in the water, and played last night out in her mind. Suddenly, she could smell jasmine. Nothing in the room would give off that scent. Slowly, the smell evolved, became more and more like the perfume she dropped yesterday. Her heart beat fast. Severus was making her perfume, and she could smell it via his senses. The thought alarmed her.

"A true mating…." She said out loud.

"I knew it!" said the head Valkerie. "Didn't I say she looked JBF?"

Hermione sank under the water. Wonderful. Within hours, the depressing Main Hall picture of the woman carrying fruit and the skull of a cow would know what she'd been up to. And that woman announced everything at dinner. Couldn't keep her pinched little trap shut.

She estimated the gossip would reach Harry and Ron in two days. If not sooner. Her hand mirror cleared its throat. She picked it up, and Ginny Weasley's face formed on the surface. Surely Ginny, all the way in London hadn't heard all ready?

Ginny practically shouted. "Hermione? Have I got the right mirror? Oh, it is you. You'll never guess what's happened?"  
Hermione screwed up her face. If anyone should know, she should. She was there at the time.

"Saffron Elixir has left the Elixir Girls. I'm going to try out as a replacement."

"What?" Oh, so not about her and Snape.

"Yes! You know I'm not interested in graduate school. There's a cattle call in Diagon Alley next week."

"Well, you do like singing." Understatement. Ginny was the star of Hogwarts' musical productions. "What will you call yourself if you get in?"

"Cayenne. Red hair, and all that." Ginny peered at Hermione. "You look pretty smug. What have you been up to? Found a new way to apply Arithmancy to real life?"

Hermione had not considered bringing her knowledge to bear in bed. It was worth considering. She thanked Ginny for the suggestion.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "And just what are you going to apply it to? Not cooking again, please. Mum still can't get the batter off the ceiling from when you changed the ounces for pancakes."

"Using seven of everything would have made it more magical," Hermione said. Cooking was not her strong point. An advantage to living in a school. Meals provided.

"Pity it wasn't more tasty."

They chatted for a while longer, and then Ginny bade goodbye, ready to go practice her song lyrics.

Hermione climbed out of the bath, noting with pleasure where she ached. There were faint finger marks on her breasts.

"A true mating. Sounds distressingly permanent." She didn't know anyone who had experienced this. No one had mentioned it. Idly, she wondered if it was why Viktor left her.

"Even if it is a true mating, like he says, there's no reason it has to be permanent. Maybe it was just a one night stand."

The Valkeries shot looks at each other, and one sidled out of the picture. No doubt heading for Pinched Faced Woman With Cow Skull downstairs.

Hermione walked back to her room and climbed into her fresh bed. Alone. She could spread across the whole bed if she wished. Her house elf had left her a snack of tea and biscuits. Crookshanks came in through the cat flap. It only appeared when he wanted in or out. He jumped onto her bed and mooshed her hand, whisking his tail in her face.

"I know, I know, I've been away," she said. "I'm sorry, but there's been a development."

Crookshanks sniffed her carefully and growled. Hermione shrugged.

"You might have to get used to sharing me again."

The cat yowled. Hermione stroked him until he settled, a huge ginger lump beside her legs. Hermione slept, in her familiar room with the right smells and the usual companion.

Term progressed. Hermione's Arithmancy students wagged classes, considering the subject unimportant. Hermione could not understand it. How could people not want all the knowledge available to them? How could they be tempted by Durmstrang's brief spring before an even shorter summer. She gave detentions to be served in the library, writing extra essays.

Snape's thesis progressed. Vasplach was impressed with his student's knowledge of Muggle matters. It helped that he had Hermione to ask. In bed at night, he would turn to her.

"So, what do Muggles do instead of house elves?" "Is football as exciting as Quidditch?" "What about Muggle contraceptives?"

"None as effective as the Impedio charm." Which Hermione made sure she renewed every day. She didn't need a baby at this stage of her life, and she wasn't sure Snape was Daddy material. Hermione wasn't even sure he was B-word material. She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'boyfriend'. Someone Ron's age was a boyfriend. Not a man of 46 to her 24. And 'lover' just put it right out there baldly.

Summer. The lake melted, and brave students swam with the merpeople. Snape and Hermione took to walking after dark, enjoying warmth in the air. Hermione wore her perfume.

"You know, I'm meeting Ron for lunch at the end of term," she said.

"And?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."

"Scarcely. He's your friend."

"But-"

"I'm not a couple person, Hermione. I can't give you any more than that. You visit Weasley, Potter and all the rest, but leave me out of it."

"Severus-"

He shook his head. "No, don't slide yourself against me like that. It won't work. Oh, for Rhiannon's sakes!" He stopped walking and kissed her. 

She pulled at his clothes. He grinned the dark and lowered her to the ground. It wouldn't be the first time people made love on a Quidditch pitch.

Afterwards, she stroked his face.

"The answer's still no," he said, but there was a rare open-faced smile on his face.

She hit him. "Bastard."

"That's why they pay me the big money at Hogwarts."

Mentioning the school put a damper on their good humour. Next week Snape submitted his thesis, and a week after that, he went home. Silently, they chose not to talk about the future. Neither was sure they had one.

Snape stepped off the Hogwarts express, relieved to smell familiar flowers around him. Students who had gone home for the term break surged around him, all keeping a good distance.

There was nothing for it - he missed Hermione. He didn't really expect to do so. Pleasant enough companion to while away the term. Sharp mind, even if she did twitter on about Arithmancy too much.

He told himself it was good to be home, to resume his life. No more ridiculous theses, at least for another three years. No more dreadful Durmstrang food. No more Vasplach inflicted upon him. No more warm body next to him at night.

Snape shook his head. It was better this way. He could burn away his life in pursuit of knowledge, as he had always done. If she weren't here, he could not get more attached. There was no danger of falling in love, to which there was no Potions antidote.

So what if it were a true mating? He knew of people who had that special bond, and still couldn't make it work. His own parents had a true mating: six children. Then they divorced. Different ideals, different lives. The heart didn't have a brain.

Snape made his way to Dumbledore's office.

"Lolly gobble bliss bombs," he said. The door opened.

Dumbledore met him in the doorway. "Welcome back, Severus. I'm glad to hear your trip went so well. Another certificate to your list of credentials, eh? And thankyou for the Arithmancy teacher. Well done!"

Dumbledore stood aside. Hermione sat in a chair, her face pale. She shot Snape a trembly smile.

"My contract wasn't renewed at Durmstrang. I'm too hard on the students," she said. "And here I am."

"Here you are," Snape echoed. He couldn't think. His nostrils were filled with her perfume, the one he'd made for her, with just one drop of essence of Veela. At the time, he thought it funny. It didn't seem so amusing any more. He wanted her.

He wanted to run. But there wouldn't be anywhere to hide. She was here, at Hogwarts. He suspected he was about to have his life fucked over. He entered the room and put a possessive hand on Hermione's shoulder. He smiled. There was no reason he had to suffer alone. He'd make her sleep in the wet spot. Every night.

**********

AUTHOR NOTES: Many apologies to the Spice Girls, Neil Diamond, Bridget Jones' Diary, and Pretty Woman.

I realise this doesn't conform to a lot of the rules/cliches I've seen in stories here. I thought about the whole Ron/Hermione issue. How many of us stay with, or even still fancy our teenage loves years after the fact? I decided there was no need to pair Harry or Ron with anyone.

I hope I didn't make Snape too lovely. It didn't want to get into 'love redeems Andy Hardy'.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me, except the original ones, and even they're playing in J.K. Rowling's universe. She's got all the rights, and I'm just playing funny buggers with her people.


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